


In Dreaming and Waking, I am Yours

by HoneyBee95



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Blindfolds, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Food Kink, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Punishment, Riding Crops, Semi-Public Sex, Spa Treatments, Spanking, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wet Dream, kinks for kindness zine, mild masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29334642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBee95/pseuds/HoneyBee95
Summary: Aziraphale awakens to the quiet of the book shop. The recesses of an erotic dream leaving its mark.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	In Dreaming and Waking, I am Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [strangely_kingless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangely_kingless/) and [GayDemonicDisaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster/)for the beta on this piece.
> 
> This piece was an entry for the 'Kinks 4 Kindness' Ultimate Indulgence' Contest. 
> 
> If you'd like to get a copy of the charitable Ezine click [here](https://kinks4kindness.tumblr.com/)

> _"Your thighs shelter a paradise of pomegranates with rare spices— henna with nard,”_

_Song of Songs 4:13 NLT_

It was his arousal that woke him. 

Aziraphale chased the smouldering heat, his hips bucking up into the darkness that was his bookshop. 

A sliver of moonlight stretched itself across the carpet, tracing the tip of his cool winged teacup; beams of liquid gold slipping through the drawn curtains, casting black shadows against the darkened walls as they passed. 

How long had he been asleep? 

Aziraphale sat up at once. 

It had been decades, no, centuries since he’d last slept properly. Albeit the last time that had happened was by accident. He’d wound up sleeping for a month, waking up in a field in Oxfordshire in the dead of winter. His last memories being a mild Autumn afternoon, chewing on a sour apple. It didn’t help either that he’d been sending prophetic dreams to the local people in the area. 

He’d been sorely reprimanded for that. Crowley on the other hand had been beside himself.

His effort burned in his lap. 

He’d been dreaming of Crowley. 

A steady warmth filled his cheeks as he rose from the settee, checked the date – it was the early hours of the following day – and made his way back to the kitchenette at the back of the book shop, turning on the tap; the brown tea ring catching his ire as he scrubbed. 

_“I want to kiss you."_

_“Soon, my Angel."_

_“Please Crowley, please let me taste you."_

He licked his dry lips. Angels did not have mouths usually. They had no need for them. And even when they did, it was used as nothing more than to praise The Almighty. But here, amongst humans, you could sing, you could talk, you could read...you could eat. He'd loved that the most. Tasting and chewing and swallowing all things great and small, flavours coursing down his throat to fill the belly his corporation had grown after years of delicious delights. 

Crowley heightened it. 

When they spoke or they kissed or they made love, it thrilled him. Filling him with a pleasure no extravagant morsel could fill. 

He wanted to taste him. What was it that he had dreamed about? 

_It was Paris 1793._

_The crêpes and the prison were the same, but the settings had merged. The grime and mire of the prison stained the walls, and his pristine clothes were covered too. Not in dirt, no, but in chocolate. Rich layers of it coating his chest and set before him where he could not reach._

_The table piled high with fruits, nuts, pastries, and delicacies the peasant folk could not afford, let alone taste. He reached with his tongue, a string of saliva dripping onto the brown nectar that had been smeared on him by his tormentor. The air whistled, a delicious moan leaving his lips at the slap to his exposed buttocks._

_Crowley moved in the shadows, waltzing to and fro, pulling at the chains that bound him, hands above, unbidden, shirt open, kneeling on a long marble table as Crowley pressed a fat strawberry to his own lips._

_He entered into the light. Kicking a tray of succulent tangerines to the ground where they clattered on the floor and were soaked in the mess. Aziraphale groaned desperately, the punishment too much, unable to taste the food or the man who had committed the heinous act. His long serpentine tongue flicking over the juices of a cut strawberry. His own manhood engorged, a luscious cherry red._

_“Who do you belong to?”_

_“I’m yours. I’ll only ever be yours"_

_The strawberry left Crowley’s lips, rubbing it onto his throbbing member, drawing out seeds and coating himself in the juices._

_“Open your mouth Aziraphale”_

His effort burned incessantly. 

‘Well,’ Aziraphale said to no one, his hand wet from cleaning the cup. ‘I may as well sort this out.’ 

\--- 

‘– And after, Mr Fell, we have a scrumptious afternoon tea. With the pastries, creams and berries sourced locally and the herbs for our teas and treatments grown organically from our own gardens. Would you like your usual private booth, sir?’ Aziraphale smiled, breathing in the light air of the Kensington Hotel. All glossy exteriors, shiny tabletops and mirrors. The light scent of fresh scones and macarons from the kitchens wafting in the air. A world away from Soho and the heated session from the early hours of the morning. 

‘Please, if it’s not too much trouble, Harry’ 

Harry – the maître d'hôtel – nodded curtly, placing a dressing gown, slippers and a towel on the desk. ‘Very well, sir. If you just wait here. Jenny will be the one dealing with all your treatments today, as you requested.’ 

Harry poured out a tall glass of rosé and pushed it into Aziraphale’s palm, ‘It is good to have you back, Mr Fell’ 

‘There you are!’ 

Aziraphale turned in surprise. Crowley stomped into the foyer, the fractured sun filtering through the skylight over him, a tongue of fire descending. 

Beyond that, the Bentley was parked haphazardly in front of the rotating glass doors. 

‘I’ve been looking all over the place for you, Aziraphale!’ 

He swallowed, the sharp notes of the rosé piercing his throat. 

‘Really? Whatever for?’ 

Crowley stopped short. ‘Aziraphale, we had lunch planned together. At the Ritz’. Harry scoffed lightly. 

‘Oh, my dear boy, you're right! I’m terribly sorry, I forgot!’ 

To the untrained eye, Crowley’s darkened glasses were impenetrable. But Aziraphale knew him well and could see the pools of copper study him, a heat rising, spreading to Aziraphale’s neck. 

‘Excuse me sir’ Harry stepped forward, standing a little straighter, head held high ‘but the hotel, spa and its facilities are patron only. Mr Fell is one such patron and has a booking. Unless you have one and are a patron, I will have to ask you to leave.’ 

Crowley looked at him with a frown. 

‘if you look in your books, you'll definitely find my name there. Anthony Crowley, hard to miss.’ 

‘I honestly doubt that’ 

‘No, check again. I’m sure if you check now, you’ll see my name alongside Mr Fell’s. Exact same treatments and everything.’ 

Aziraphale did not miss Crowley’s hand snake behind his back and the distinct snap that followed. 

Harry huffed and walked back round the front desk. Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale. 

‘Really now, dear?’ 

‘Oh, don’t you start. How did you manage to forget our outing?’ 

‘I haven’t the foggiest idea. Usually, I’m quite good at remembering our bookings’ 

‘Yeah,’ Crowley said, standing straight, ‘usually.’ 

‘Oh, come now, don’t be like that dear boy. Indulge me at least this once and I'll make it up to you.’ 

They walked to the desk, Harry stood behind it, now a shade paler. 

Crowley shrugged, reaching for the dressing gown and the other items that had practically been thrown onto the surface. 

‘We’ll see.’ 

He said nothing, but Aziraphale did not miss the way Crowley’s eyes lingered. A sharp tooth digging into the bed of his bottom lip. 

\---

_‘_ Well, my dear, what did you think?’ 

They walked out of the suite, clad in their white dressing robes and fluffy slippers. Aziraphale ahead with Crowley in tow. A little bounce to the demon's steps. 

‘S’all right’ he drawled. ‘You were right about that girl though. Magic touch and all.’ 

‘Jenny? Oh yes, she’s quite good at her job. The best, I think. Her hands always delight me.’ 

‘Delight you?’ Crowley’s voice grew dark, leaning into the Angel’s ear, ‘more so than mine?’ 

Aziraphale did not rise to the bait. ‘In a way, yes. After tea we have our facials. Champagne and truffle face therapy. I do love the taste of a good champagne’ 

Crowley stood straight, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. 

‘Do all our treatments consist of some kind of food?’ 

‘Oh, they do. The spa specialises in it.’ 

They crossed the tearoom, plush carpet brushing against the soles of their slippers as they passed seated patrons making light conversation, dotted here and there sipping their teas and tasting the savoury snacks. 

‘Here we are.’ 

Aziraphale pushed the heavy double oak doors at the back open. Slipping past the heavy velvet curtains and entering a small space that was all plush velvet, fragrance and ambience. The low hum of the outside only barely filtering into the dim space, the little light from the hanging lamp casting shadows onto the purple walls of the luxurious room. A slab of black marble, an altar for the delicacies. 

‘This is a private booth. It's a bit more intimate here than out there.’ 

They sat down, the curve of their knees beneath the table, only a hairsbreadth away from slightly, oh so slightly touching. 

‘And no one will interrupt us?’ 

‘No one’ Aziraphale reached up and pulled at a woven rope of gold, ‘the only time that will happen is if we want something. And I’m positively famished’ Aziraphale made to smile...and stopped. 

Crowley was staring at him. Leaning one elbow on the table, resting his chin on his open palm. He drummed his newly manicured fingers onto the table of blackest obsidian. His gown slack, the fine hairs on his white chest curling from the cool. So close was he to Aziraphale, that the Angel fought to reach out and touch him.

‘Is everything alright dearest?’ 

‘No, just a thought’ he rubbed his head, taking hold of his glasses ‘or maybe my imagination’ he sat up, sighing. The gown falling from his shoulder. 

Aziraphale swallowed. 

‘Angel, did you really forget about our outing today?’ 

Heat swelled beneath Aziraphale’s cheeks. 

The door opened then. And a waiter glided through. With him were trays of small delicacies. Little pieces of delight paraded on silver. The warmth from the teas and the scent of the freshly baked goods piled high, filling the small room with decadent aromas. Cake, scones, creams, jam...all was there. A tingle of excitement passed through Aziraphale’s spine, writhing, wiggling at the sight of the food. The waiter left. Drawing the heavy curtain to the room and closing the heavy door securely behind him. 

Aziraphale did not wait.

He plucked a pink macaron from the tray and pressed it to his lips. Rich swirls of creamy strawberry rolling against his tongue. 

‘Enough of this’ 

The world around Aziraphale froze. The snap reverberating as a binding pressure held him, restrained him, keeping him from lifting another sweet morsel to his lips. The meringue slipping from his fingers and rolled onto the carpeted floor. Within the folds of darkness, Crowley's golden eyes glittered. 

Aziraphale’s effort twitched, a soft moan leaving his lips. 

Crowley’s eyes widened in the dark. Mouth curling into a smile. ‘You're enjoying this, aren’t you?’ He lifted a finger, Aziraphale’s arms rising until they were above his head, the invisible pressure tightening when Crowley’s hand closed into a fist. 

Crowley rose from the plush seat, sauntering, stopping and stepping on the macaron. Aziraphale whined. ‘Answer me, Aziraphale’ he hissed deliciously. 

‘Yes, yes Crowley.’ 

He smiled, perching on the table's edge, a small sandwich – cucumber from the distinct green Aziraphale could see, – held between finger and thumb. 

‘You said you'd make up for forgetting about our outing’ Crowley chewed carefully. ‘And I think I know how you can do that.’ The demon's eyes glided over Aziraphale’s pliant form. Stopping, unrepentant, on the rise between the angel’s thick thighs.

‘And what was the safe word, Angel?’ 

Aziraphale shuddered, breathless, ‘Eden.’ 

‘Good’ Crowley purred, a slender finger tracing Aziraphale’s jaw, dipping into the curve of his gown and beyond. He took hold of the rope that bound the soft material and pulled. Unwrapping him slowly. It opened and Aziraphale’s effort stood firmly to attention. 

‘Oh, Angel’ Crowley whispered, breath hot in his ear, ’you really want this, don’t you?’ 

Crowley teased the head of his dick with a long finger, tracing the slit and gently dipping onto the shaft. Aziraphale bucked up. 

‘Ah, ah, ah, angel’ Crowley leaned back, moving his hand, ‘remember, you said you were making it up to me. And if no one is going to interrupt us, I'm going to take my time with you.’ He pushed the remains of the sandwich into Aziraphale’s mouth. He chewed and swallowed, savouring the cool and creamy notes. ‘Now’ Crowley hissed languidly, ‘get on your knees.’ 

The pressure disappeared at the snap of Crowley’s fingers and Aziraphale slid to the floor, the plush purple carpet curling beneath his plump fingers. He looked into Crowley’s eyes, liquid gold melting the angel’s ice blue, hands shaking, as he pushed the robe from the demon's lap, his long cock springing forward. 

Aziraphale took Crowley into his mouth, first the tip, then the expanse of his shaft. Sliding the demon's cock down his throat, his lips spreading over his thick girth until finally he made it to the base, between Crowley’s navel and balls. Crowley moved sharply, bucking into Aziraphale’s mouth. Once, twice – setting a steady motion as Crowley fucked the angel's throat. 

Stars filled Aziraphale’s vision as Crowley pounded into him, the darkness from the suite building galaxies with every stroke. Crowley’s hips pistoning hard and fast, driving to find purchase deep inside of his throat. Aziraphale’s jaw ached but the taste, the taste of skin and precum a delicious delight, the nauseating scent of massage oils filling his nostrils. Vaguely aware that his cock was dripping, weeping from the abandonment, he made to brush it. 

Aziraphale cried out, head flying back. Crowley’s cock leaving his mouth to follow the direction of the pain at the back of his head, forced into an angle. When had Crowley grabbed his hair? The demon tutted. 

‘Oh Aziraphale, you don’t deserve to relieve yourself’ Crowley’s sharp teeth shone. ‘Not after how you treated me. I could end this session and go home right now’ 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, panic overtaking. ‘No! Please don’t!’ 

Crowley chuckled. ‘You don’t make the decisions here’ he licked his bottom lip, taking in the mess of Aziraphale’s face, wet and dripping with saliva and precum, his lips a plump purple, begging to be kissed and his eyes, bright with tears. Crowley’s golden eyes softened. ‘Unless’ his grip growing slack, ‘I hear a safeword’ his voice soft, a mild break from the intense moment unfolding. 

Aziraphale had not been expecting this. They had discussed this, time and again on what was safe and their boundaries in their scenes. Mutual respect and understanding had been the core of their arrangement, always sure to inform one another on what felt good, or what hurt or even what was _amazing_ to them. If Crowley was asking, he must have looked a complete fright and he wanted to make sure he was safe. Aziraphales heart fluttered in his chest, ‘Don’t be afraid my dearest’ he breathed, ‘I’m enjoying this. I love this’ he smiled softly. Crowley blushed, gaining back some of his resolve.

‘But I'm still going to have to punish you’ he hissed. The demon clicked his fingers, a black eye mask and a crop materialising from nothing. 

Aziraphale swallowed, a current of fearful pleasure racing down his spine. He knew where this was going, and leaned forward, bowing his head to be blindfolded. ‘Oh no Angel’ Crowley growled, the crop raising the angel's chin ‘you're not going to be blindfolded just yet.’ Crowley lifted his arm and with a mighty swing he brought it down on the marble table, the delicacies scattering across the floor. Aziraphale jolted, crying out at the sight of the wasted goods. Wanting to stand but knowing that if he did, Crowley would leave. He wanted to please him, desperate to be whatever Crowley wanted him to be. He knelt, staring at the carnage of tea and cakes. ‘Will you be good now, Angel?’ Aziraphale shuddered, the heat in his belly sweltering, ‘Yes, yes I will.’ ‘Good,’ Crowley purred ‘give me your hands and close your eyes.’ 

Aziraphale thrust his hands forward, holding the black table for support. Something long, soft and fluffy held his hands together and was suddenly yanked tightly around his wrists. His eyes remained closed. The familiar feeling of silk and elastic pressing into his skull. ‘I could bind your mouth too’ Crowley whispered from somewhere, the scent of the massage oil was everywhere, the crop stroking the base of Aziraphale’s dick.

‘But I like using that pretty mouth of yours. It’s my favourite toy - well’ Crowley chuckled, Aziraphale groaned, feeling the press of leather on the cleft of his buttocks ‘I like this part too.’ The air whistled as the crop landed on Aziraphale’s buttocks. The angel whined hotly, ‘arse up, Aziraphale’ a sharp tug, and the angel was planted face first in the carpet. 

Aziraphale made to sit up, but his head was pushed back into the carpet, a firm hand keeping his head in place. ‘Here’s how this is going to happen angel’ there was another snap and cold press against his arsehole ‘I’m going to fuck you. And if I don’t hear you or you try to move’ the crop slapped the back of his thighs, Aziraphale moaned ‘this is what you can expect, got it?’ Aziraphale nodded, but then hollered in pleasure soaked pain when the slap came again. 

‘what do you say, angel?’ 

‘y - yes, yes Crowley!’

‘And remember, if it’s too much, what do we say?’

‘Eden’

Crowley worked on Aziraphale’s arsehole. His fingers circling, stretching out the tight muscle. Aziraphale’s hole taking one, two, three fingers before he brushed against that sweet spot. Aziraphale jerked, pushing back into Crowley's hand. But the demon held him in place, slicking his member. 

Aziraphale waited, licking his bruised lips, tasting Crowley on his tongue, ready, _wanting_ to make a mess of himself in this seat of luxury. His effort burned terribly. _Where was he_? His head was raised and something pressed against his mouth. Aziraphale opened it, expecting the demon's cock but finding, instead, the cool press of china. Aziraphale swallowed down the contents, instantly recognising the taste of camomile. He whined.

‘Desperate, aren’t you?’ Crowley chuckled ‘don’t worry angel, I’m going to give you exactly what you want. Relax for me and don’t you move’ Crowley’s cock circled against the angel's hole, pushing into the angel, carving out a space for himself. Aziraphale moaned, long and loud, feeling himself being stretched to his limit, taking in the entirety of Crowley's girth. 

Crowley rolled his hips, thrusting forward, pushing Aziraphale into the carpet. Aziraphale moaned. Crowley rocked against his pliant form, burying his cock deep inside the angel, dragging himself out and rolling back in, the soft cheeks of his arse pressing into his navel, grinding.

Aziraphale wept at the torturous pleasure. Hot waves pulsating after each roll of Crowley hips. The demon offered no respite, Aziraphale mewled at every punctuated thrust, he cried at the slap of the crop. A vicious cycle of raw pain and pleasure driving him to ecstasy, he was so close.

‘C - Crowley, I -’

The demon’s hand was on his dick, milking him. ‘You want to cum don’t you?’ He hissed hotly into his ear, his hips rocking, pushing without abandon against his prostate. Aziraphale whimpered. 

‘You want to make a mess don't you?’ the sting of the crop was fresh against his thighs, Aziraphale shuddered ‘yes, yes Crowley! Please let me cum!’ Crowley laughed darkly,

‘Cum for me, angel’ and ground at an angle, hitting his prostate. Aziraphale did not last. Waves of electric pleasure burst through him. He could feel the long strings of cum leaving his dick.

Crowley grunted, Aziraphale clenching around him, wringing him of thought and action. Warmth spread throughout his body, rising until finally he could not take it. Crowley moaned, burying himself deep inside of Azirphale’s arsehole coming hard with a shuddered hiss.

They both shook, breathing heavy from the exertion. Crowley moved first, pulling out of Aziraphale, completely taking in the angry red of his spanked buttocks, the dents where his fingers had gripped his arse and the twitch of his slick arsehole.

The angel whined, cum and slick dripping down his thighs, pleasure curling in his belly. ‘Eden.’ Crowley moved. Gently pulling the mask off of Aziraphale’s face, unwinding the string of the dressing gown from his hands and pushing it back in place. He lifted Aziraphale from the floor, praising him, gently coaxing him to sit back down on the plush chair of the private suite. With half a thought the wasted treats were back on the table, untouched. 

Crowley picked a fresh scone from the table and buttered it with cream and strawberry, pressing it to the angel's lips. Aziraphale accepted the offering, eating from Crowley’s hand. ‘Thank you dearest’ he whispered, looking up at the demon. A twinkle in his sky blue eyes as Aziraphale closed them.

‘You little minx' Crowley cried.‘You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?’ The look of serenity did not leave Aziraphales face. Rather, it settled there, burying itself in his features like the rock faces of a certain mountainous area in the Americas. 

He opened his eyes, ‘I might have sent you a little dream as a prompt’ he said, smiling slyly. 

‘The Reign of Terror?’ 

Aziraphale nodded. ‘Would it have bothered you if I had been more direct?’ snuggling into Crowley’s neck. ‘Of course not! But Angel, there are better ways to ask for things than that’ Crowley rested his chin on the angel’s curls.‘Mhm, I suppose so. But I love being yours. There are three things I know I love: books, food and you' 

‘Do I take precedent?’ 

‘Know your limits dear’ Aziraphale kissed the demon, ‘If that’s a spot you’d like to take, you’re going to have to work for it.’ 

‘You absolute bastard.’

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [here](https://linktr.ee/HoneyBee95)


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